


Pas de Deux

by sadtomato



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Smut, cheesy R&B music, leg warmers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-08
Updated: 2011-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-06 11:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadtomato/pseuds/sadtomato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bella is a ballet dancer, and so is Edward. They have a volatile history and generally ignore each other, until Edward decides to pop in to the rehearsal room one day...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pas de Deux

**Author's Note:**

> This originally appeared on the "Fuck me Fridays" on the Twinklings blog at http://www.thetwinklings.blogspot.com

  


"Again!" Esme says, resetting the music we've been dancing to all afternoon. James sighs heavily and resets his position, one hand loosely wrapped around my waist. We go through the motions for the twentieth time today, dancing a routine we've both had memorized for a week now. The steps are not difficult; I can dance my part easily, and I'm sure James can, too. The problem seems to lie in our coordination.

"Good, Bella," she says, circling around us as I extend my arm gracefully and lean backwards into James' arms. "Lovely."

Her praise is short-lived, though; soon she's barking corrections as James steps a beat too early, as he lifts me too quickly, as I turn away from him instead of into his arms. I nearly miss a lift when I catch a glimpse of someone standing in the doorway; by the time I turn my head to look, though, the person is gone.

"Enough for today," she sighs, turning off the music in resignation. "We start again tomorrow." She sweeps past us, heading for the door, and pauses to look back over her shoulder. "I expect to see some improvement," she says, looking pointedly at each of us.

She leaves the door open behind her, and I move to close it so we can continue rehearsing. When I turn around, though, James is standing next to his duffel bag, pulling a sweatshirt on over his tight, white t-shirt.

"Where do you think you're going?" I ask, wincing at the petulant tone in my own voice; I really should try to be a little nicer to him, since we have to work together.

"You heard her," he says. "We're done for the day." He bends forward to retrieve a pair of sweatpants and steps into them, covering his black tights.

"Ummm... I heard her say she'd seen enough, and that she expects to see improvement tomorrow," I correct him. "That means we need to keep practicing until we get this right, James."

"Well, I have plans tonight, so I gotta get going. But I'll be here a few minutes early tomorrow, and we can run through it, okay?" he says, fiddling with an iPod before slipping it into his pocket. He pushes an earbud into one ear, and I can hear the tinny sounds coming from the other. "It'll be fine, Bella. Stop worrying so much. I'll come in a few minutes early tomorrow, okay?" He pops the other ear bud in before I can argue, gives me a weak wave, and slips out the door.

I turn to face the mirrored wall in front of me, crossing my arms at the empty space reflected back at me. I've never had a partner who takes dancing as seriously as I do; they never fail to let me down. James had seemed quiet and unassuming at first; I thought I'd finally found a partner who didn't have a ridiculous ego. Now I realize that he's quiet because he doesn't care. He can't be bothered to put in extra time to practice, and it will show in our performance.

With a sigh, I bend over to adjust my leg warmers. Normally I wear tights and a bodysuit for practice, but I stayed late last night to work on this dance and didn't have time to do laundry. Fortunately, Esme didn't comment on my casual choice of grey booty shorts, a black tank top, and a black shrug to cover my arms. The royal blue leg warmers don't exactly match, but they're my favorite pair.

I check the sign-up sheet on the door to make sure this room isn't reserved, and I pull the door closed when I find that it's free for the rest of the afternoon. I restart the music, take my position, and begin the dance again. It's difficult without a partner, but I need to be sure that  _my_  steps are perfect.

I practice the number twice before pausing to take a few sips from my water bottle. I start again, determined to go through it a few more times. Halfway through the routine, I bend low to simulate the position I'll be in when James lifts me; when I straighten up, I'm startled by an unexpected reflection in the mirror. I drop out of my position and spin to face the intruder.

"Jesus, Edward! You scared me. Lurk much?" I ask him, stomping over to the CD player to turn off my music.

"The door was open," he says, shrugging his shoulders. Edward is Esme's son, and he thinks he's God's gift to dancing because his mother owns the school. He's always been around, as long as I can remember... we were best friends, when we were kids. He was an amazing dancer-so naturally talented that his ego quickly inflated, and he stopped hanging out with me after we hit middle school. I haven't seen him very often since he stopped dancing two years ago, but he does show up around the school occasionally.

"It certainly was not. This is a closed rehearsal," I inform him, nodding towards the hallway to encourage him to leave. There's no way I want him watching me practice. He smirks at me, that stupid, infuriating, I'm-so-great-and-I'm-better-than-you smirk.

"Hmmm, doesn't say anything about that on the schedule," he says, tapping the clipboard on the door with the rehearsal schedule. What a prick. I walk over to him and reach for the pen attached to the clipboard, but he grabs it before I have a chance. I reach him just in time to watch him scrawl "Cullen" over the remaining hours of the day. I cross my arms and turn back to the stereo in a huff, hoping he'll leave without taunting me any further.

When the door clicks shut, I turn my head to make sure he's gone-but he's not. He's walking into the room, dropping a heavy duffel bag on the floor, leaning one shoulder against the wall and fucking smirking at me some more.

"What do you want, Cullen?" I ask, taking a long pull from my water bottle.

"I don't want anything,  _Swan,"_  he says, emphasizing my last name in an adversarial tone. "I'm just being friendly. Saying hello."

I can't help but laugh at his response; Edward hasn't been friendly with me in six years.

"Great. Hello,  _friend_ ," I spit, whirling around to face him. "Mission accomplished. Now get the fuck out. I need to practice." He frowns, obviously put off by my vitriol, and I'm glad. _Good_ , I think.  _Maybe he'll get the hint._

"Maybe I want to stay and watch," he says, relaxing against the wall, bending one knee to casually rest his foot against the wall. He's wearing running shoes, long, black basketball shorts, and a white cotton tank. It's just a little too snug, stretched out over his muscular chest, and I have to avert my eyes so he doesn't catch me staring.

"Maybe I don't want you to stay and watch," I tell him, tapping my battered white pointe shoe against the floor. He smirks again and crosses his arms so his position mirrors mine. I try not to notice his biceps and how much they've developed since we were scrawny kids.

"Then you can leave," he says, supremely confident, as always. "My name's on the door." On the surface it sounds like he's talking about the rehearsal room schedule, but I catch his eyes looking west, towards the front of the building, where "Cullen Studios" is literally etched into the glass door. I hear what he's really communicating: a subtle reminder of his status. Ass.

"Fine," I say, turning back to the stereo. "Watch."

I reset my music and hurry back to the center of the floor to take my position. I move through the routine, careful to ensure that every step is flawless-the last thing I want is to make a beginner's mistake in front of Edward. He may not be a dancer anymore, but he knows his shit.

I whirl through the dance, careful to keep my posture and my form perfect, and spin around to meet Edward's gaze once I'm finished. I'm only slightly out of breath, my chest rising and falling quickly, and I wait for him to say something. After a long stretch of silence, he tilts his head to the side, shrugs minutely, and says, "Meh."

I press my lips together tightly, inhaling deeply through my nose, and stomp over to the stereo. My form was perfect, the steps were exact, I did everything I could without having a partner, and he says "Meh?" How dare he!

I'm determined now to draw out a different reaction; I want him to acknowledge my talent. I pull the shrug off over my arms, tossing it in the direction of my bag in the corner, and turn the music on again. I notice Edward toeing off his shoes and bending down to pull off his socks-what the fuck does he think he's doing? I walk to the center of the room, setting myself again, and I'm surprised to see Edward walk up behind me.

"It's not you," he says, assuming a familiar pose-my partner's.

"What?" I ask, tilting my head to look up at him. He wraps his long fingers around my waist, squeezing me much more securely than James ever has. Despite my confusion, my body starts to sway with his as the music begins to play.

"It's not you," he repeats. "It's not him. It's just that the two of you don't work. You're too alike-you're both too technical," he explains, moving gracefully through the steps.

I want to argue, but it feels so  _right_  to be dancing with him again-completely natural. He doesn't say anything, just stares down at me with his wide green eyes. I let my body take over and go through the motions I know by heart; for once, I don't look at the mirror during the entire dance. Neither does Edward-his eyes are locked on mine.

When he lifts me, I feel secure. Every time he touches me, I feel a warmth and a connection I've never felt with another partner. His hands spread out over my ribcage make me feel small, perfect, weightless.

When we reach the end of the dance he stays close, his chest pressed tightly against my back, his breath hot against my ear.

"It's not you. There's just... no passion, with you and James," he says, his fingers tickling the exposed skin between my shorts and my tank top. I'm inclined to lean back against him, turn my head, encourage him to touch me even more, but my head wrests control from my body and I'm reminded that this is a terrible idea.

"Oh, right. Not like the passion between you and I?" I ask him, pulling away. I move to the corner, reaching for my shrug, and turn to face him as I pull it over my right arm.

"Stop it," he says, crossing over to me in three swift steps. "Stop," he repeats, tugging the piece of fabric away from me and tossing it on the floor. "Dance with me."

I bite my lower lip, considering his request. Edward's been a jerk for years, but dancing with him does feel... right. He reaches into the pocket of his bag and pulls out an iPod, turning to the stereo to plug it in. He pushes a button and comes back to me.

"C'mon," he says, reaching for my hand. I hesitate, and he grabs my wrist instead, pulling me to the floor. I'm expecting another ballet, something we both know by heart, but the loud, familiar beat that pulses through the speakers surprises me.

"Christ. Are you fucking kidding me?" I ask, trying to pull my wrist away from him. He won't let go, though, and he tugs my arm around his waist. He rests his other hand on my hip and pulls me closer.

"Come on, have some fun," he says, a wide grin spreading over his face. "Get low, Bella," he murmurs, bending his knees so he can grind against me. He lifts his head and shouts, "To the windooooooow... to the WALL!"

I try to keep a straight face, but I can't stop myself from laughing at his unbridled enthusiasm. I try to relax in his arms and match his rhythm, but I'm not used to dancing like this-like we're in a nightclub or something. Edward releases my wrist once I start to move with him, and his palm lands on the small of my back.

"Good," he says, wiggling his eyebrows at me when I roll my hips against his experimentally.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," I tell him, rolling my eyes. He slinks down low, almost to his knees, his nose trailing against my skin, before straightening up again.

"What, having fun?" he shouts, swinging me around. I squeal when he pulls me close again, with my back to him this time. He keeps one hand on my hip, guiding my movements, and presses his other palm flat against my belly. I can't ignore the electricity that shoots through me at his touch-his pinkie finger is brushing the waistband of my shorts, and I sort of wish he'd slip it underneath... slide his whole hand down lower, touch me where he's never touched me before.

"No," I tell him, giggling nervously. I turn my head so I don't have to shout. "Dancing to a song about sweaty balls!"

He smiles at me, pulls me tighter, and laughs with me. Our eyes are locked, my neck twisted so I can look into his eyes, and suddenly he stops laughing. He never stops moving, swirling his hips against mine, but his expression is serious. His green eyes dart from my brown ones, down to my lips, down to our bodies moving together. When his gaze travels slowly back up my body, I can feel the heat creeping up from my stomach into my chest, my neck, my face.

The song changes to something I don't recognize, but it's another low, pulsing beat. Edward spins me unexpectedly, and crushes me to him. I rest my hands on his biceps, squeezing the tight muscles I'd been admiring earlier. His hands travel up my body, from my hips over my ribs, sliding around to my back and trailing up my arms. He wraps his fingers around both wrists and pulls my arms up around his neck, dropping his hands back to my waist after I embrace him.

My cheek is pressed against his chest, and I'm afraid to look at him-afraid to do anything but feel. The heat of my anger is melting away, cooling down, transforming into something else... Edward's right-there  _is_  something between us. But what? Does he have feelings for me? If he knew that he felt like this, why hasn't he said anything about it in the last few years?

I want to know what he's thinking, so I tilt my head up to look in his eyes. He's staring at me, breathing heavily, and he immediately moves in to kiss me. Instinctively I push him away, backing up to put some space between us.

"Bella, I-" he starts, moving closer, but I put my hand out to stop him.

"Edward, what the fuck?" I ask. "I'm not gonna deny that there's... there's something here, but this is... it's like, completely out of the blue."

He laughs, a short, bitter sound, and shakes his head as he takes a step closer. I take a step back, keeping the few feet between us so I don't give in to my body-which wants nothing more than to be rocking against his.

"Out of the blue? I've wanted you... fuck, forever, Bella. I've never  _not_  wanted you," he says, stepping closer again. I try to move back, but the barre pressing against my lower back stops me-I'm up against the wall.

"Forever? Please! You were my best friend, Edward, and then you fucking dropped me like a bad habit. You were too good for me. What's different now?" I ask, standing tall and trying not to let my hormones sway me. Edward stalks closer, looking angry now, and the song switches to another obnoxious rap song.

"Too good for you? I didn't drop you, Bella, you dropped me! You started dating Mike Newton! You let him finger you in the piano room in ninth grade and then you told EVERYONE about it! How do you think that shit made me feel?" he argues. I'm stunned at his version of events; it's true about Mike Newton, although  _he_ was the one to tell everyone, not me. But the idea of me dropping Edward as a friend? He's rewriting history.

"I didn't  _drop_  you, Edward. I don't think you're remembering things very clearly. In eighth grade you just... stopped talking to me. You started getting all this attention for your dancing, and suddenly you couldn't be bothered to talk to me anymore!" I tell him. I have to raise my voice so he can hear me over the music, and it breaks a little when I talk about him ignoring me; the hurt I've been masking since we were young is bubbling up, and I'm having trouble keeping myself together.

"That's what you thought?" he says, his shoulders slumping. I can barely hear him, but I can read the sadness on his face. "Bella," he says, closing the gap between us so he can touch me again. "I stopped talking to you because... fuck, because I was suddenly all  _turned on_  by you, and I was confused and embarrassed... you don't know what it's like to be a thirteen-year-old boy and... fuck, and the only time you see the girl you like is during dance class... when you're wearing  _tights_." He smiles sheepishly, and it takes me a second to process what he's saying.

"You stopped talking to me... because of your DICK?" I scream, shoving him hard, hoping he'll move away so I can yell at him some more. He doesn't waver though, just nods seriously.

"I didn't mean to just stop talking to you, I was just trying to figure out what to do... and then you suddenly had tits and that made everything harder, and I didn't know if you'd like me... like that," he says, letting out a deep breath. "By the time I figured out what I wanted to say to you, you were getting fucking fingered in the fucking piano room by Mike Newton, and I was pissed, and I thought you didn't want me, so I stayed away."

"Don't make it sound like you weren't doing some fingering of your own!" I countered, not willing to let him play the victim. "I know about Tanya and Kate and Rachel... I heard all about every girl you were with as you fucked your way through this school."

"We both did that!" he shouts, leaning into me, forcing me to lean back against the barre. I reach behind my back and grip it with both hands to steady myself. Edward's hands follow mine, gripping the barre too, trapping me between him and the wall. "You're probably fucking James, too, aren't you?" he says, his lips brushing against my ear.

"No!" I scoff. I tilt my head back to stare up at him. "You saw us... there's nothing there," I admit.

"Not like us," he says, dropping one hand to my lower back. He pulls me close to him, thrusting his hips against me, and now I can feel how hard he is through the thin barriers of fabric that separate us.

"Fuck!" I hiss, my hormones instantly taking over. I wrap my arms around his waist, pull him closer, and buck my hips against his.

"Can I fucking kiss you now?" he growls, his free hand wrapping around the back of my neck.

"Fine!" I shout, but I can't stay angry. My lips start to curl up into a smile before Edward crashes into them, kissing me roughly. I struggle in his arms, trying to take control of the kiss, but he doesn't give an inch.

Finally, I relent. I give in and part my lips a little for his tongue. He kisses me like he just got home from a war, like he's missed me, like he needs me.

We stand there kissing, wrapped around each other, until the music changes. I have to pull away so I can laugh at Edward-this has to be the cheesiest playlist of all time.

"Seriously?" I ask him, laughing as a deep mechanical voice says, "Yeah, yeah, yeah," over and over. "Did you take a job as a stripper and not tell anyone about it?" I ask, teasing him about his poor choice of music. But Edward's not laughing. He pulls me away from the wall so we can move, and he starts swaying to the beat.

" _I'm just a bachelor..."_ he sings, " _lookin' for a partner..."_  he smiles at me, letting me know he's not taking this too seriously, but he's still grinding against me to the cheesiest stripper song of all time. "Dance for me, Bella," he whispers, his fingers sliding up under my tank top to tickle my sides. He pulls it up and over my head quickly, tossing it in the general direction of my stuff.

"Edward, the door!" I hiss, angling myself so he's blocking me from view if anyone wanders in.

"I locked it," he says, tipping my chin up so he can kiss me again. "Dance for me," he commands again, stepping back and looking at me expectantly.

"Fuck that," I say, following him. I pull his shirt up over his head, throwing it on the floor like he did with mine. " _You_  dance for  _me,"_  I demand, delighting in his surprised expression. He throws his head back and laughs, indulging me in a little corny striptease-he even pulls the waistband of his shorts down to give me a glimpse of his hipbones. I can see his erection outlined clearly in the silky fabric, and I really, really want to see it.

I dip my finger in the waistband at the front of his shorts and pull it forward. I can see inside them now, and he's wearing nothing underneath-his cock is thick, hard, and straining towards me. I moan out loud, and Edward drops the pretense of stripping. He pulls me in for a searing kiss, and I make no pretense of fighting him this time.

"Bella!" he gasps, lifting my leg and hitching it around his hip so he can get closer to my center.

"Just... fuck, Edward, just fucking take them off," I beg, pushing at his shorts, trying to pull them off his body even though he's pressed too close to me.

"Fucking hold on," he says, nipping at my bottom lip before pulling away. He walks to the stereo and pushes a few buttons on his iPod, changing the music over from cheesy R&B to a sultry blues/rock song I've never heard. Edward bends low to go through the pockets of his bag before he stands up, smiles wide, and flashes a little black square of foil at me.

My heart starts to beat faster, knowing now that this is really going to happen. We're not just dancing, not just fooling around, we're going to have sex. I can feel my eyes grow wider as I stare at that little piece of foil, and Edward comes close to me again, wrapping one arm around my waist.

"Hey, it's okay... I just thought... we can do whatever you want," he assures me, stashing the condom in his pocket before kissing my cheeks.

His sudden tenderness is comforting; I let my body relax into his and tilt my head so I can kiss his lips. He deepens the kiss, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, and slips his hand into the waistband of my shorts.

"Want you naked," he says, moving his lips down my jaw. He pulls away abruptly, squatting down on the floor, and yanks my shorts and underwear down roughly over my legs. I kick them to the side and lift my left leg, tugging at the bright blue leg warmer covering my calf. Edward stills my hand, grinning wickedly.

"Leave it," he says, spinning me around to face the mirror. He rests his hands on my naked hips and walks me forward, moving us closer to the mirror. I feel exposed, and a little silly, wearing just my leg warmers and my toe shoes, but Edward is really good at distracting me.

"So pretty," he says, dragging his hands up and down my sides. "So soft and bare. Show me, Bella," he says, sliding one hand down my body to my thigh. He lifts it gently, guiding my leg, and places it on the barre.

Edward groans, long and low, when he looks down at our reflection. It's... it's obscene. I'm open for him, bare and wet and wanting, and he can see everything. My leg tries to fall on instinct, but Edward pushes it back up, keeping me open.

He trails his fingers from my ankle up over my leg warmer, to my knee, and finally to my inner thigh. He makes little patterns there with his fingers, swirling and teasing, never getting close enough to touch me where I need him.

"Bella Swan," he says, his lips brushing against my shoulder as he speaks, "you have the prettiest... little... pussy." Finally, he touches me-he parts me with two fingers and glides them up and down the length of my slit, coating them in my wetness. "So fucking wet. I bet it's sweet, too, isn't it?" he asks.

The idea of him going down on me makes me squirm against his hand in delight. "Why don't you find out?" I ask him, gasping as he circles my clit with his fingers.

"Mmmm... I do want to lick you, baby, but you know what? If I do that... you're gonna come so hard you won't be able to stand up anymore," he promises, abandoning my clit to play at my entrance. He circles his fingers around, pressing both of them in slowly. "And I want to fuck you, just like this."

He punctuates his statement with a rough thrust of his hips, reminding me of the thick cock I saw in his shorts.

"Yes," I hiss, moving my hips against his fingers. He fucks me with them slowly, swirling them around to tease me in every fucking direction. "God, Edward, stop fucking around," I beg, wiggling my ass against him.

"You want this?" he asks, bucking against my ass at the same time that his fingers slip out of me.

"I want it now," I tell him, reaching around behind me. I fumble with his shorts, trying to reach into the pocket to retrieve the condom and help him along. Edward distracts me by dragging his wet fingers up my torso, circling my belly button and my nipple before reaching my mouth.

"You can wait," he says, spreading some of my arousal over my lips. "I want to taste you, first." He tilts his head down to capture my lips in an intense, fiery kiss. He's demanding, thrusting his tongue into my mouth immediately, and he sucks and nibbles at my lips before he pulls away.

He leaves me panting, desperate, and dizzy from excitement.

"So. Fucking. Sweet," he growls, pressing his lips to mine one more time. When he pulls away, his lips are replaced with something else-he pushes the corner of the condom wrapper into my mouth, and I bite down on the very edge.

Edward does the rest, ripping open the package and pulling the wrapper from my mouth, dropping it on the floor after he retrieves the condom. Somehow he manages to get his shorts off and roll the condom on in the blink of an eye-before I know it he's kissing my neck again and whispering to me, telling me to watch.

I look down at the mirror, and I see it before I register the sensation-his cock sliding between my legs. He reaches around my body, his forearm pressing to my waist, and wraps his fingers around the tip of his cock. He directs it upward, teasing my clit, and I'm surprised by the needy whimper that comes from my mouth.

"Stop teasing," I beg him, looking up at his face in the mirror. He's watching his hand and his cock move against me and doesn't meet my eyes. "Edward..." I warn him, trying to shift my hips, move forward so that his cock will slip back to my entrance. It doesn't work-he just keeps circling it around my clit, using just enough pressure to drive me crazy.

"Tell me what you want," he says. "Beg me."

"Fuck that!" I argue, reaching behind me. I wrap my hand around his neck and twist my fingers in his hair, jerking his head back roughly. He lifts up and meets my gaze in the mirror, his eyes shining with lust. "Just fucking give it to me," I demand. I know he probably  _could_  make me beg, if he kept teasing me for too much longer, but I'm not going to give in that easily.

"Don't let go," he says, lining himself up at my entrance. "Keep fucking pulling my hair," he says, pushing into me roughly.

"Fuck!" I shout, my fist tightening in Edward's hair as he fills me. I slap my free hand over my mouth, worried that we'll be caught doing this in the practice room.

"Don't cover your mouth," he says, reaching around to pinch and pull at my nipples. "Fucking scream, Bella. I want everyone to know what we're doing in here. They'll all hear you, and they'll see my name on the door, and they'll know it's  _me._   _Fucking._   _You_." He emphasizes his point with three sharp thrusts.

He's going so deep that it's almost painful, the stretch in my hamstring is starting to burn, and his fingertips are twisting and pulling at my nipple. It's all eclipsed, though, by the pleasure of being stretched by his thick cock. It's pushing and pulling at me, driving me crazy, but I need more.

"Touch me, Edward," I beg, my head lolling back against his shoulder. "Make me come."

"Where?" he says, his palm flattening between my breasts. He drags it down slowly, over my stomach, until his fingers can just barely reach my clit. "Here?" he asks, tapping his index finger gently against it.

"Yes," I cry, "Fucking do it. Make me come. I'll scream your name so fucking loud everyone in the building will know what you're doing to me," I promise, and he chuckles in delight. He gives in to me, enticed by my offer, and starts rubbing tight circles around my clit. He's got me so worked up that I'm twitching and moaning for him in seconds, so ready to explode.

"Come for me," he says, his voice low and demanding. "Look at yourself. Look in the mirror. Watch me fuck you. Come on my cock, now!" he commands, and I feel my supporting leg start to give as I scream in pleasure. Edward holds me up, one arm wrapped around my waist, and keeps working my clit with his other hand.

"Don't fucking stop," he growls. "Scream. Say it, Bella, say my name. Give it to me," he begs, and I feel the most intense orgasm of my life take over my body. I think I scream his name, but I'm not sure-I can't hear, can't see, can't speak. I just feel his hands on my body, drawing out the pleasure, and his cock pounding into me relentlessly.

He somehow manages to pull us down to the floor without slipping out of me; he sits down rather gracefully and gathers me into his lap, my legs resting on either side of his. I fall forward against his legs and drop kisses on his shins while I recover. Edward isn't stopping, though; he's gripping my hips tightly, sliding me up and down his cock. When he can't move fast enough, he groans in frustration and pulls us up to our knees.

"Get on your hands and knees," he orders, pushing me down with a palm flat between my shoulder blades. He kneels behind me, bent over my back, and starts pounding into me again. "God, I'm gonna cum," he groans, reaching over my head to slap his palm flat against the mirror.

I'm barely recovered from my first orgasm, but I can feel another one building, deep in my belly. I lift one hand gingerly and slip it between my legs, supporting my weight on just one hand. I touch myself like only I know how to-furiously rubbing to get me there quickly, so I can come with Edward.

"Yes!" I shout, just as Edward slaps his hand against the mirror three times in succession.

"So! Fucking! Good!" he cries, his hips stilling against mine as he pulses inside me.

I drop to the floor, lowering my face to my hands, and try to catch my breath. I feel Edward slip out of me, and I peek up at the mirror to see him lying flat on the floor, doing the same.

"Hey," he says, looking over and catching my eye. He smiles, and I can't stop myself from smiling back.

"Hey," I answer.

"C'mere," he says, reaching out a hand toward me. I turn around and scoot closer, lie down with him and rest my head on his shoulder. We lie still for a few minutes, until we both feel our heartbeats return to normal, and then Edward kisses my forehead.

"I gotta get rid of this condom, baby," he says.

"Oh... right," I answer, sitting up so he can move. He rises to his feet, walks to a trashcan in the corner, and knots the condom before throwing it away. "This, too," I tell him, holding up the two pieces of the wrapper. He takes them from me and tosses them in the trashcan before picking up the articles of clothing strewn around the room. He steps into his shorts first, and then hands me mine.

"Thanks," I answer, feeling awkward now that the heat of the moment has passed. I pull my shorts and underwear up and shrug my tank top on, watching Edward's muscles move as he pulls his own shirt over his head.

"You okay?" he asks, stepping closer. He cups my cheek in his hand and brushes his thumb against my cheekbone.

"Yeah, I just feel, uh... weird," I answer, smiling sheepishly.

"Don't feel weird," he says, brushing his lips gently over mine. "We'll figure it out. I'm not a total asshole, B, I wouldn't have done this with you if I didn't want to see you again. Can I take you out? Buy you some dinner?" he asks.

I'm so relieved that I fall against his chest and wrap my arms around his waist in a tight hug. I was dreading the "what does this mean?" conversation, and Edward addressed it head-on.

"I'd like that," I answer. "Let me, uh, go clean up first," I suggest, smiling up at him.

He waits in the studio while I freshen up in the bathroom down the hall, and when I come back, he has all my things packed up for me.

"Thanks," I tell him, pulling some yoga pants and a thick blue sweater out of the bag. I tug the pants on over my shorts, ignoring Edward's smirk as he eyes my ass.

"How come you don't dance anymore?" I ask, pulling my sweater over my head.

"Who says I don't dance?" he answers, his eyes twinkling. "I just don't take classes anymore. I'm going to the U for a business degree, so I don't have time. I still dance though, all the time... for fun."

"Would you want to... I mean, you don't have to... but if I could get rid of James, would you want to be my partner?" I ask, looking up at him hopefully.

"Yeah," he says, ducking down to kiss me sweetly. "I think I'd like that."


End file.
